


You Can Keep Your Hair On

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternative Universe - Crack, Crack and Angst, Flint Has Magic Hair, Gen, Season/Series 03, Silver Steals Some, The SilverFlint Hair Balance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7029019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Silver discovers Flint's actual best kept secret. </p><p>Or: why do these always have the exact same amount of hair between the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Keep Your Hair On

Flint was getting worse. Everybody knew it, even if none of them dared to do a thing. So, really not surprisingly, it fell to Silver, the proverbial bull’s horns spelling a certain doom.

 

It didn’t go the way he had _almost_ imagined.

 

After a particularly violent raid, Himself was soaked in blood, his beard coagulated into one giant clump and his hair in desperate need of a wash and a detangling instrument not yet known to mankind. Silver’s hands would have to do, and volunteering for that job was quite possibly _the_ stupidest thing he had done since the _Urca_.

 

“You can look - that is, _keep_ looking - like your average demon from Hell. _Or_ you can look like a demon from Hell with some sense of style.”

 

“Your point being?” That in a low, dangerous voice.

 

“My point being, your hair is a bloody mess.”

 

Flint being too tired to launch a counter-attack, Silver got through the walls, barricades and other fortifications. It was then that he discovered just how _twitchy_ Flint could be about losing a single knot, like they were still on the subject of sailing. Once the labour had been completed, however, the Captain eased into an eerily placid mood, and for almost three days at that.

 

At sea and with a captain like Flint, the strangest things could happen. But Silver was pretty sure that a bundle of hair clippings was _not_ supposed to serve as a shield against musket shots.

 

“A lucky dodge there,” Billy commented, eyeing him suspiciously. Maybe Billy knew something that he didn’t - or maybe he wanted Silver to puzzle this one out and share it with the rest of the class.

 

As soon as Flint’s mind had gone to its faraway place, Silver snipped off another strand - the height of stealth, that! - and fashioned himself a plain, narrow bracelet out of it.

 

“I don’t need a goddamn barber,” Flint would snap at him. “Let alone such an inept apprentice!”

 

“Of course you do,” Silver reasoned. “Your executioner’s speeches wouldn’t be half as effective with your turban on.”

 

“Nonsense, everyone is scared of a turban - you never know what’s hiding underneath.”

 

“But this is also a good show of trust. A captain should trust his quartermaster with his hair, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Flint said nothing, and maybe, just _maybe_ for a good reason.

 

He always came back from battle with his mind and his body worlds apart - but each time, it took them a little longer and a lot more effort to reunite, like Flint was running out of coin to pay the ferryman. He would clean off the blood and the gore and simply sit there, a moving part of the _Walrus_ rather than a person.

 

To say that Silver was disturbed would be an understatement of the century, and since when did he need another excuse to act?

 

He may not have the lightest steps on the ship these days, but that was where the art of waiting came in. One night, when Flint was out like a light, he stole into the great cabin and… relieved the Captain of his hair. In _everyone’s_ best interests.

 

He left the beard on, though.

 

Flint… did not fly into a white-hot rage. In fact, he acted as if nothing was amiss and he had shaved it off himself. If he suspected Silver, he gave no more indication than the last time they had been in this position. Now, keeping the evidence would be a suicidally stupid thing to do, so Silver tossed it all into the ship’s foamy wake - save for a couple of strands for an ankle bracelet.

 

A storm broke out, nearly sinking them and making him wonder just what black magic Flint’s hair possessed.

 

All would have been quiet - or at least, no louder than usual - if _Silver_ ’s hair had not started acting up. It shot down his back like a stubborn weed, growing into a mane unlike anything he had ever worn. The crew joked that he must be competing with Joji and other proud hair owners, but Flint _knew_. Silver could see it in his eyes.

 

The bracelet must be working, because his good leg remained intact. Neither water nor fire would touch him. He had become Flint’s equal, and if he had had to cheat his way to it, well, Flint himself never played fair.

 

The day after their first official council of war, Flint stepped out of his tent sporting a shoulder-length ponytail.

 

Silver stared at it. And then some more, because how? How was it possible? Was it a wig? If Flint could have regrown it all along, then why the devil had he kept up the charade for months?

 

Flint caught him looking and sort of _smirked_ , but without moving a muscle. No trophies or talismans could help him now.

 

The sand muffled his approach. He was leaving a trail, he knew, but he would deal with that later. Flint appeared to be asleep, his face almost serene in the moonlight that Silver was letting in. Silver inched closer and reached out-

 

Flint’s fingers shot out, closing around his wrist like a vice. “Did I know it was you? Well, who else would it be.” He chuckled to himself, even as Silver froze in terror. “But really, your nerve is entirely something else.” He took off what _did_ turn out to be a wig.

 

“Where… _When_ and how did you manage this?”

 

“I never throw out a single hair.” ‘Unlike you’ hung between them, unsaid. “Unless I do want to raise a storm.”

 

“Does it still have that power?” Even dead? Could _Silver’s_ hair do it? What about Flint’s beard?

 

Flint made himself more comfortable, tugging Silver down to sit beside him. “How would you like to hear the full terms of my Faustian bargain?”

 

Silver blinked. “Oh yes, _very_ funny.”

 

“In exchange for the magic hair, I pledged to Satan a certain number of souls,” Flint continued in his most convincing tone. “So you see, you were damned the moment you signed the articles.”

 

Silver wasn’t laughing, a cold shiver running down his spine. “One thing doesn’t add up, though - how could such a power have been stolen by plain old me?”

 

“Deals with the Devil.” Flint rolled up Silver’s trouser leg - the lucky charm was there alright. “Never go as planned.”

 

Tense as a ship’s line, he waited for Flint to walk his fingers up to his knee and further up. They tangled in his hair as if to rip it all out. And then, quicker than Silver could follow, he snipped off just one lock.

 

“A fair trade,” Flint commented innocently. “Oh wait, I need more, because I’m thinking a scarf to ward off a hanging…” Silver began edging backwards with a new sense of urgency. “Or maybe a knit hat...”


End file.
